I played Little League Baseball for about six or seven years of my youth. For the most part it was a positive experience. Of course, I didn't always have the best attitude - I took sports a little too seriously in my younger days. Back then, as I recall, some of the parents did as well.
In my family there was no such problem. My father couldn't possibly have cared less about Baseball (which was my favorite sport) or any sport. My father, who was always trying to find that one special idea that would bring him fame and fortune, didn't have any real hobbies. His work was his hobby. He was a builder and real estate broker and he tried to use as much creativity as he could in his projects. He did come to watch my Little League games but only after he had gone home and had some dinner first. Then he would get to my games around the 3rd inning or so. He was never excitable or passionate, just a casual observer.
Many of the other fathers really knew the game. They could give us tips and really show their support by "talkin' baseball" with us. Not only did I NOT resent my father for his lack of familiarity or connection to the game but I admired it in a way. To him baseball was a game - just a game. It was not life or death - just a game. Although at the time, it was life and death to me, I guess through my Dad's example I kept in the back of my mind the knowledge that it was . . . just a game.
I always said I'd never get involved with Little League if I had sons. I'm not a joiner and I never wanted to think about getting real involved with other parents, etc. Now my two sons are both in Little League and somehow I'm involved with both of their teams. My youngest is five and just started T-Ball this year. I've been the Assistant Coach on his team and the regular pitcher that pitches to our kids. I've been more patient than I thought I could be although it's getting tougher and tougher. The little kids have the attention spans of, well, who are we kidding? They have almost no attention spans at all!
My older boy is nine years old and he's in the next level up where the kids begin to pitch to each other. His first year in this "Minor League" level was last year. His team, the Tigers, did not win a single game all of last year. This year they've been doing better but there's been one team they could not beat - the Phillies. This is a team where the father is a gym teacher so he gets his team together and starts practicing in February in his school's gym! No one ever told this guy that it's not about winning and to just have fun. For this reason, I have really wanted our team to beat this guy. We've always taken the attitude with the kids on our team that as long as you improve and learn, that's what is most important.
Tonight, in our last meeting with the Phillies for the rest of the season, we won. I think the score was 10 - 6 but I'm not completely sure. All I know is that I haven't been that emotionally invested in a baseball game since Game Six of the 1986 World Series. Luckily for me the outcome of this game was much better than in 1986.
We were leading 10 - 0 at one point and then we started to crack. In the fourth inning we were leading 10 - 5 (they had scored 5 runs in the 3rd inning) and they loaded up the bases with no outs. I figured we were going to collapse for sure. Now I don't know how many baseball games you've watched with 8, 9, and 10 year old kids but let me tell you, if a ball is hit in the air to the outfield you have about a 20-30% chance that it will be caught. Usually the outfielder will watch it land next to him or if you've got a real sharp kid, it may hit off his glove and roll to the fence. Okay, so the bases are loaded, the batter hits a pop fly to left field. All the runners start running even though there are no outs. The left fielder makes the catch at which point the coach, our scorekeeper (one of the mothers), her husband, the official Assistant Coach, and another father and myself who have become like the unofficial Assistant Coaches, start screaming for the left fielder who made the catch to throw to second base because the runner who was on second is half way to third. The left fielder throws to second base and another miracle occurs - the second baseman catches the ball and stands on second. Double play. By now, the runner from first is practically to second so I begin yelling for the second baseman to touch the runner from first and this is where the true miracle occurs - he listens to me! He touches the runner from first and I start yelling "That's three, that's three!" The ump gives the out sign, turns back to the other coach with a little half-smile on his face and shakes his head, "Triple play," he says.
Half the people there had no idea what happened and, I'm embarrassed to say, I experienced a moment of true, unadulterated joy.
Our kids held on to beat the team they were certain they couldn't beat and they felt great about the victory and about themselves. After the game one of the kids said, "We did it, we beat the unbeatable team." And I stopped him and I said, "No, all you did was learn for yourselves what the coaches and I have been telling you all along. No team is unbeatable. You can do anything you believe you can do."
I know it's just a game but it's such a great game.
